Nattis
by Mornen
Summary: Severus Snape is stuck parenting Harry, his little friends, and Draco. Norway is worried about Tom Riddle's influence on Iceland. Remus Lupin and Gandalf are trying to find a way back to their own worlds. England is wondering why he's in an arranged marriage with Professor McGonagall. Thor just wants to eat. A crossover. Happy (late, late) birthday, Duilin!
1. Chapter 1

_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." - Dante's Inferno, Canto III, line 9

* * *

I own...books. Lots of books. But not these characters. I do, however, own the idea of Nattis.

* * *

'And then, suddenly you're not a nation anymore.' Denmark shrugged. 'I mean, it's not unreasonable. I guess it's happened before.' He set his beer down on the counter and mulled that over. 'Yeah, it happens.' He nodded.

The bartender stared at him, eyes narrowed, his top lip rolled up to show his crooked teeth and ragged gums peeking out from under a scruff of a grey moustache. 'Huh.'

'Yeah.' Denmark snapped his fingers. 'Just like that.' He snapped them again. 'Just like _that_.' He drained the mug and pushed it across the red Formica counter. 'Another heavy.'

'Huh.'

Waiting, Denmark leaned back a little and nearly fell off the stool. The ancient vinyl was killing his legs, but it matched the rest of the room. The bar was a crowded, dirty place with a hundred scents in the hot air of which at least half were noxious. The tables had chipped corners, and the glasses had chipped rims. It was the people of the street who wandered in there, tired of the day and the dust. But there was an unabashed familiarity in the room that Denmark found comfortable.

He picked up the new glass set in front of him and quickly downed a couple gulps of beer. 'I was a great nation once,' he told the bartender, but Old Whiskers wasn't listening to him. The man only paid you mind if you had money down on the counter and a firm notion to order something. Denmark let the air out of his cheeks. 'Real great,' he told the beer. It buzzed in reply.

'Ow!' He swatted at his neck where a mosquito had bitten. 'Can't you leave a poor man alone?' he asked the bloody spot on his palm. 'Damn.' He brushed his palm against the vinyl stool and then took another sip of the stale beer.

The room was only getting hotter as the night grew older. He wiped at the sweat on his neck and forehead and looked around for someone to talk to. It was boring as hell to be in a bar alone. Not to mention pathetic.

'_Yeah, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone_,' he muttered to himself. Some old song from an old life. An American song, probably. '_Son, can you play me a memory?_' he sang softly to himself. '_I'm not really sure…_'

He stopped. A young man was staring at him. He wore a denim jacket and had his long hair in a braid down his back. It was dark, like his eyes, and melted into the shadows.

'Hey,' Denmark said. He flashed a smile that lingered on his face.

The man just stared. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a very small sip. He did not blink.

Denmark shrugged and looked away. He did not know what the man was trying to say. He could have been aiming for anything – from trying to entice him to bed to trying to entice him to fight. He didn't want to spoil the night. Drinks were something he now had to save for. Even as it was, Norway was going to kill him when he got home.

It was too bad the Netherlands was working that night. Ned would have been perfect for lightening the atmosphere. He gulped another mouthful of beer and glanced at the clock. He'd soon have to start for home.

That man was still staring at him. It was because he had smiled, wasn't it? People always took smiles the wrong way. It was even worse when you didn't know what wrong way they had taken it. It wasn't like he was making fun of people by being happy. He wasn't laughing at their misery by smiling at them. Why did people have to be so disagreeable?

'Lighten up,' he told the man. 'It's not like I killed your father.' He smiled again and laughed. It was a joke, after all. Not a good one, but still a joke.

The man's hand tightened into a fist, and the muscles of his jaws clenched visibly. Denmark felt a flicker of fear pass through him, and he turned away quickly. It was a fight. He had wanted a fight. He drained the glass and stood up. There was no sense in staying here now, really none at all.

As hastily as he could, he made for the door, managing to slip past the man, keeping a couple other people between them for added safety. He could still feel his stare – sharper than the bare knife that hung by his side – on him as he exited the bar. He ducked into the crowd to conceal himself and made his way for home in a roundabout way to make sure the strange man wouldn't follow him.

_Something had to be wrong with that guy's head_, he told himself as he made his way through the dizzying maze of colourful buildings, worn old before their time. Red and brown brick made way for cement painted blue, painted yellow. There was a sign for doughnuts here, a broken bench there, a crude image of a naked woman someone had sprayed onto the side of an apartment five months ago – signed and dated, then a rusty playground covered with weeds and broken bottles, and finally a narrow cement stairwell leading upwards to a cluster of apartments, all baby blue, all five stories high.

'NEW PLACEMENTS – Watch Your Step' a sign read. Bold black letters against white.

Making his way to apartment #7, he popped a mint into his mouth and chewed it thoroughly. It was always best to take precautions. He opened the door into the tiny foyer of their building and bumped straight into their neighbour, Raskolnikov, who was heading out.

'Sorry,' Denmark said. He stepped back out to let the man through.

'It's, nothing,' Raskolnikov said. He smiled a thin smile, but his eyes seemed to look straight past Denmark.

Raskolnikov was a strange man. He had an apartment on the fourth floor of the building, but he was always stepping out. He seemed to be captured by a memory that he couldn't shake. 'Excuse me.' He hurried past.

Denmark watched him go. He watched him as he fled down those cement steps to the city beyond to the madness and confusion of this new world that they all had to call home. That no one knew an escape from.

''s that you Denmark?' Norway called.

Denmark looked up to where Norway was standing on the landing of the stairwell. He was wearing the red jeans Sweden had found for him at the recycling but with the legs cut short. He had his arms folded.

'No, it's the ghost of Hans Christian Anderson,' Denmark called up as he started to the stairs.

Norway waited for him patiently to make his way up, and then marched back to their apartment without saying a word. Denmark followed him.

'Sorry I'm late,' he said. '…Are you mad?'

'Hmm.' Norway went to the stove and picked up a wooden spoon. For a moment Denmark thought he was going to hit him with it, but then Norway dipped it into the pot and started to stir. 'You could have at least gotten me one,' he said.

'Sorry, Norge,' Denmark said. So he did know he'd been drinking. He sat down at the kitchen table where Finland was hunched over some drawings.

'Tsk. Tsk,' Finland said, eyes shining. 'Someone's been a bad boy.' He shrugged his unbuttoned shirt off and spread it over the back of the chair.

'What did you do, Finny?' Denmark asked.

Finland just smiled in reply.

Norway appeared over him and peered down at the drawings. 'Got a job,' he told the table.

'Ja?' Denmark looked up, interested.

'Model.' Norway ambled to the open window.

'…a model?'

'Mmm.'

'Good for you,' said Denmark. 'If enough of us get enough jobs, maybe we'll be able to get out of this hellhole, and finally make it somewhere.'

Finland smiled again. 'Sure.' He didn't sound like he meant it.

Not knowing what else to say, Denmark turned on the little television. The weather report was on. Hot, hot, and more hot. He flipped to the next channel. Weather. He flipped again. Weather. Weather. Weather. _Name That Leaf!_ Weather. Hot lady meteorologist. Weather. Sighing, he put the remote down and leaned back in his chair. Maybe tomorrow would bring a better day, or at least better programming.

Belgium rushed into the apartment, face flushed and shirt damp from perspiration. 'Guess what?' she said as she came to a sudden halt on the white tile floor.

'What?' Denmark asked.

She smiled. 'That witch next door is moving out!'

'Finally,' Finland said. He pulled his shirt back on.

'You calling me a witch you pretty, good-for-nothing, blonde brat?' A slinky woman in a tight black dress and luxurious fur coat (despite the heat) was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and smoking.

Hanatamago yelped at her and growled.

'Shhh,' Finland said.

'Pity you didn't sell that nuisance to me,' the woman said. She sniffed. 'It would have made such a _lovely_ fur muff.' She sniffed again and raised her painted-in eyebrows.

Finland picked Hanatamago up and held her against his chest protectively. 'Get out,' he said. Norway placed a hand on his shoulder.

She blew smoke at them. Finland didn't blink. He kept a hard glare on her.

'What I think you forget to mention, you little tramp,' the woman continued, looking again at Belgium.

'Don't call her that,' Denmark said.

The woman scowled at him. 'What _that doll_ forgot to mention is that I'm getting out of here because I've made my way up. It's the way this place works. It's a hierarchy, and you are all going to be on the bottom. Still.' She blew smoke at Belgium, but she stood her ground bravely.

'Why don't you leave?' she asked.

'I am leaving,' the woman said. She smoothed out the fur coat. 'I'm going up, up, and up. And you can just stay here in the slums with that horrible animal.'

Hanatamago growled again.

'Shh!' Finland reprimanded her.

'Get out,' Denmark said.

'I don't think you'll find your new neighbours any better,' she said. She smirked. 'In fact, I'm sure you'll find them much, much worse. But it's not like you'll be able to escape them. Groups never get anywhere. Love isn't something you want in this world.'

'Go take your hate to the rich slums then,' Finland said. 'It's a prison everywhere, Cruella.'

Cruella de Vil smiled at him. 'You don't know anything about life. The new ones always find it hardest.' She stepped into the room, her red heels clicking against the tile. 'You probably still think I'm fictional, don't you? Part of you thinks this is all just a really bad dream.'

'It's called a nightmare.' Norway said. He tightened his grip on Finland's shoulder, but his eyes remained flat.

Cruella glanced at him for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Finland. 'Well where I come from, nations aren't people. Try to get that into your head, little boy.'

Finland glared at her sullenly.

She looked down at his dog. 'They all die anyway.' She turned on heel and walked away. 'Remember that,' she said as she left. 'They all die anyway.' And then she was gone.

The tension in the room slowly started to fade. Finland put Hanatamago down. 'What kind of a hell are we in?'

Belgium shrugged. 'I don't know.' She shook her head. 'I really don't know.' She sat down at the table next to him and pulled the papers over. 'Nice.'

'Thanks.'

No one said anything else. Denmark picked up the weekly newsletter.

_'Nattis Weekly:_

_How to Live with a Once "Fictional" Character in Fifteen Easy Steps' the cover read. 'Inside: The Problems with Asserting Authenticity._

_How to Cope with Magic for those from a Non-Magical world._

_Are You Discriminating? A Checklist for Douche bags._

_Hitting on a Fairy-Tale Princess: The do's and the don't's.'_

He put the newsletter down, unopened. Useless as usual. If they wanted to actually teach anyone anything, they'd start with some sort of explanation as to where they were and what was wanted from them. Simply waking up in a white room and having someone explain to you that you weren't dead, you weren't in heaven, you weren't in hell, and no one would ever find you was not enough. Nattis. What kind of a name was that anyway? He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

_It's like a video game_, he could still hear Doc Brown telling him. _You have to work your way through the levels to ever get out._ He'd only met him once. Apparently he had figured out a way to beat the system and was free out not long after that. Either that or he had died. Or they were all dead. Or it was just… No, he still couldn't figure it out.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a knock on the doorframe. He looked up to see Thor standing there, peeping his head around the corner. 'Can I come in?' he asked.

* * *

A/N: This was still written as a birthday present for Duilin, even if that was in May and it is October now. This was written earlier.

If you were following the story earlier, you'll know I took it down because I wanted to change the direction of the story a bit. Well, that shall happen.


	2. Chapter 2

The Rules of Nattis

Law 1: Nattis is your reality. Escape is (almost) impossible

Law 1 Section 1

1. For the endurance of your stay, there is only one reality. Nattis is that reality.

2. All attempts at suicide will be deflected.

3. All attempts at murder will be deflected.

4. No one can die.

5. Yes, you can starve indefinitely.

6. We do not recommend testing Law 1 Section 1 Rule 5

Section 2

1. Attempts at escape, which is (almost) impossible, will be met with laughter and ridicule.

2. We know how to laugh and ridicule.

3. We do not recommend testing Law 1 Section 2 Rules 1 and 2

* * *

'Yeah,' Norway said. 'Come in.'

Thor stepped into the room with Iceland following after him. 'We just came from meeting the new neighbours,' Thor said. 'And quite a strange lot they are.' He smiled amiably and picked up an apple from the fruit basket on the counter. 'Very strange indeed.' He bit into the apple and chewed it thoughtfully while the others waited.

'Who are they?' Finland asked. He hovered a little ways back because he was secretly terrified of Thor. Thor was, after all, an easy god to be terrified of. Even Norway felt a little nervous, although he didn't let it show. It was difficult to be perfectly comfortable in the presence of a being who could hurl thunderbolts, raise goats from the dead, created the tide by trying to drink the ocean, and had a considerable temper, which included murder or kidnapping children. Iceland, however, seemed perfectly fine with him.

'Some guy named Severus Snape and his kids,' Thor said, still munching away. He stroked his red beard thoughtfully and then grabbed another two apples and shoved them in his mouth, almost instantaneously. Thor had always had quite the appetite. 'And a kid named Tom Riddle. He lives alone, I think.'

'They're from _Harry Potter_,' Iceland said quietly. He pulled himself onto the counter and sat there, legs dangling.

'That Severus Snape was a real funny sort of fellow,' Thor said. He swung his hammer carelessly and ignored the thuds as it struck the counter near Iceland's feet. 'Asked me if I always was a blundering idiot or if I was begging for money under the pretence of buying a brain…' Evidently finding this amusing, Thor chuckled heartily.

'He's a fictional character where we're from,' Norway told Thor. Iceland nodded from behind him and brushed his white hair off his face, but his attention was on the fruit bowl.

'Really?' Thor considered this only briefly. 'That must be awkward for you, but then again I suppose that you don't exist where I come from either.' He reached for another apple, but Iceland blocked his hand.

'That's enough,' he said.

'Is it?' Thor wrinkled his nose. 'Of course meeting someone from your fiction must be different then, say, meeting someone you never knew…like when I met you.' He tried to reach around Iceland for the apples, but was blocked again.

Norway decided that it might not be a good time to mention that he had already known about Thor before he had met him. He let it go with an almost inaudible sigh and looked out the window at the parking lot and the bland buildings beyond it. The heat from the asphalt was rising quickly, making the cars parked on it quiver in his view.

Thor lifted Ice off the counter, holding him against his side with one arm. He snatched another apple and bit into it triumphantly. For a god, Thor could be quite immature sometimes, Norway thought. He sort of reminded him of Denmark.

'Ja, this Snape, he was quite a character,' Thor said. 'Reminded me of Loki in some ways.' He placed Iceland back on the counter, a sixth apple secured in his hand, and bit into that one. '"Begging for a brain."' He chuckled.

'Brother should get one,' Norway said.

Denmark rolled his eyes at him. 'That gets old, you know.'

'Hmm.'

'Well, that makes everything interesting, doesn't it?' Finland asked in his best attempt at sounding cheerful.

'Yeah, if you think having Lord Voldemort as your next-door neighbour is "interesting" it sure does,' Iceland said.

'Hmm? What do you mean, Ice?' Finland asked.

'Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort,' Ice said. 'It's a name he gave himself.'

'…And Lord Voldemort is?' Thor stole the last apple as Iceland began to explain.

'He's the bad guy in _Harry Potter_. He wants to take over the world or something. He hasn't got a nose, and he likes killing people. And snakes. I mean, he likes snakes. He doesn't like to kill snakes. At least, I don't think he likes to kill snakes, and…' Iceland sighed. 'That's not important.'

'Wait, did you just say we got a dark lord for a neighbour?' Denmark asked.

Iceland nodded.

'Well, that certainly ups the fun factor,' Denmark said.

Finland laughed a little nervously. 'Who knows, he might make a better neighbour than Cruella.' He cast Hanatamago a protective look. She continued to lick her paws lazily.

'Hmm.' Thor cast a sad look at the empty fruit bowl and sighed. 'Well, I had better get back to my apartment.'

'You just came to eat all the food,' Iceland said accusingly.

'Just returning the favour from when you ate all the food at my place,' Thor said with a grin. 'Oh, and the Riddle boy can't be Lord Moldyvort – the kid had a nose.' He said good-bye to them and strode out the door, hammer still swinging.

Iceland hopped off the counter. 'I didn't eat all his food,' he said.

Everyone ignored him.

'And Voldemort lost his nose later…I guess.'

No one said anything.

'I'm going to my room.' Iceland stalked away without another word.

'Moody,' Denmark said.

Norway sank down at the table and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 'This is one of those times I'm very glad for that "no one can die" rule.' He drew in a deep breath of stale air and then looked around the room to see if there were any closed windows. They were all open already. 'Blast the heat.'

'No,' Denmark said mischievously. 'The heat blasts us.'

Finland chuckled twice, slowly. Sweden st(gl)ared at Denmark. Belgium sat down next to Norway.

'We should still welcome them, huh?' she said smiling at everyone. Her attempts at brightening the situation would never be halted.

'We should!' Finland exclaimed. 'It's always best to be on the friendly side…especially with the more, erm, difficult people.'

A soft knock on the doorframe drew their attention. 'Hello.' A boy of about sixteen stood in the doorway. He was tall with black hair, and he was wearing a smart green shirt. He carried a book under one arm. 'I'm Tom Riddle. I live next door?' He held out a pale hand towards the room with the air of someone who had only briefly glanced at a sitcom before being deposited among humans.

There was a very awkward silence followed by a very awkward cough from Denmark's direction.

Then Norway pushed back his chair and stood up. 'Norway,' he said and crossed the room to shake the hand that was still being offered.

'Charmed,' Tom Riddle said. He gave a brief dip of his head and looked about the room importantly.

'Denmark,' Denmark said.

'Belgium.'

'Finland.' A gulp.

'Hmmph.' The grunt came from Sweden.

'Are you, er, people?' Tom Riddle stared at them each in turn, contemplating.

'Yes,' Norway said.

'Physical embodiments of our respective countries,' Denmark said quickly. They had by then gotten used to explaining their position to strangers.

'Lovely.' Tom Riddle did not smile. He looked like he was contemplating how best they could suit whatever scheme he had in his mind at the moment. 'I'm just down the hall…I'm sure we'll be seeing each other often, and…'

Iceland stepped out from his bedroom. 'Hey,' he said. 'I'm Iceland.'

'Tom Riddle.'

'Voldemort?'

Tom Riddle's face twisted for a moment, but he recovered quickly. 'The same.'

'You're evil.' Iceland opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk.

'I suppose you must be under the impression that I am fictional if you know so much about me?' Riddle's voice was twisted with well-contained anger.

'Yep. That's what I used to think.' Iceland poured some milk into a tall glass and settled down at the table to drink it.

'Hmm,' Tom Riddle said, contemplating again. 'Well, I'm sure I'll be running into you.' He turned and walked away, back as straight as ever.

'He didn't strike you as a sociopath, did he?' Denmark asked as soon as he was gone. 'Because he sure struck me as a sociopath.'

No one answered. Belgium excused herself a few moments later and went back down the hall to her apartment, muttering things that sounded oddly like reassurances to herself as she went.

* * *

The very next day after breakfast Norway, Finland, and Iceland set out on a little welcome-the-new-neighbours-who-aren't-dark-lords party. Norway had baked a cake, and they were prepared to be friendly. Making family friends with at least five people was the only way to get out of this poor part of town and on to anywhere. Norway wondered how Cruella De Vil had managed.

The door of the neighbouring apartment was opened by a gangly looking boy with red hair and a face full of freckles. He looked about twelve and wore a puzzled expression that seemed impossible to wipe off.

'Erm,' he said, mouth full of some undistinguishable food. 'Pro-ffeezer!'

A moment later a skinny man in a long black robe was standing by the boy's side. 'What do you want?' he breathed.

'Welcome!' Finland chirped. 'We're your new neighbours, and…'

'I know,' the pro-ffeezer said drably. 'Won't you…come in?' He stepped back and held the door open. 'Weasley, make them some tea.'

The red-haired boy slumped to the stove and stared at it for a while. He swallowed whatever he had been chewing. 'Don't know how, sir.'

The pro-ffeezer smirked and went to the kettle. He filled it with water, turned on the stovetop, and gave the Weasley boy a superior look. 'Remember that.'

He turned around again. 'I am Professor Severus Snape,' he said.

'I'm Finland,' Finland said hastily and stuck out his hand.

'So I've been told.' Snape looked at Finland's hand and then took it gingerly. 'Country personifications?'

'Yes,' Norway said. 'I'm Norway. This is my little brother Iceland.' He jerked his head in Iceland's general direction.

'Hmm.' Snape cast an indecipherable look around the room. 'Well, that is Ronald Weasley,' he said nodding at the redhead. 'The black haired boy sulking in the corner is Harry Potter.' The black haired boy sulking in the corner cast Snape a sour look. 'The other redhead is Ginny Weasley, the child-who-cannot-make-tea's sister.' Ginny took a step towards her brother when Norway glanced at her. 'The blond one is Draco Malfoy.' Snape nodded at a boy with silver-blonde hair who was sitting on the sofa eyeing them critically. 'And…' he paused and looked around the room. 'Miss Granger!'

'Yes?' came a girl's voice from behind a closed door.

'Come here,' Snape ordered.

'Is it important?' the closed door asked. 'I'm awfully busy with schoolwork.'

Snape sighed. 'And that,' he said, nodding at the door. 'Is Hermione Granger.'

'Ah…' Finland began.

'My…_children_,' Snape drawled. There was a silence even more awkward than the very awkward silence after they had met Voldemort, which was only broken when the teakettle whistled shrilly. 'Ah,' Snape said. 'The tea.'

* * *

A/N: Reviews would be lovely.


	3. Chapter 3

Law 2 Section 1

It is possible to meet yourself in Nattis if there is a great discrepancy between parts that you play within the context of each of yours reality. This can happen in cases where you are a famous character in one world who is not protected by copyright law and there is more than one popular view of you. (i.e. Miss Havisham in Great Expectations and Miss Havisham in the Thursday Next series.)

If you do meet yourself in Nattis, both of your characters will be terminated within Nattis and reinstated in your respective worlds.*

Using some means to alter someone else's appearance to look like you so that you will both be returned will not work.

Testing Law 2 Section 1 Rule 2 will result in a very awkward situation for the both of you.

Law 2 Section 1 is the reason why escape is (almost) impossible and not impossible impossible.

* unless, of course, you meet a version of yourself that is not found in a published work (i.e. fanfiction) in which case, both versions of yourself will continue to exist in Nattis.

* * *

Severus Snape levitated a few china cups to the table and set them down. He watched his visitors from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge their reactions. None of them seemed to be phased by the little display of magic, however.

'Do you prefer lemon or milk in your tea?' he asked.

'Milk,' said Iceland.

Snape gave him a hard look, but Iceland didn't flinch. He looked serenely around the room then fixed his gaze out the window.

'Milk's good,' Finland said. He smiled again, which he seemed very fond of doing.

Snape wondered why he was the representation of Finland. From what he knew of the Finnish people, they were known for being cold and unemotional. They made very good wizards, though. They were still noted for their sorcery, as they had been of old.

He got out the milk and a lemon from the refrigerator and flew the sugar bowl out of the cupboard and onto the table. 'Won't you…sit down?'

The three nations sat down around the table, and Snape poured them tea. He gave the children tea as well, and Harry stopped sulking long enough to bring a cup to Hermione.

'Have you been in this world long?' Snape asked the nations.

'Not very long,' Finland said. He seemed the most talkative of the three. 'We're still getting used to it.'

'And do you…like it…here?' Snape took a sip.

'No, it's just awful! I don't even know how we're going to manage,' Finland said. He shook his head. 'It's really hard.'

'It's stupid,' Iceland said. He drank more of his tea and watched them broodingly.

Snape curled his toes together inside his socks. He had already been hot, and the tea wasn't helping. He thought about asking them if it was always this hot in Nattis, but he decided against it at the last moment.

'What's your name?' Ron asked Iceland. He had sat down at the table with his tea, although he kept away from Snape. He clutched his cup between both hands, leaning his elbows against the table.

'Ice,' Iceland said. He blew on his tea.

'How old are you?' Ron said.

'Seventeen.' Iceland set his cup down and quietly added more sugar to it. 'In human years. I'm actually about twelve hundred years old.'

Ron swallowed. 'I'm…twelve.'

'You're little,' Iceland said.

'Yeah, I guess.' Ron sounded sad, and his head drooped.

'I have a friend with a little boy who's about your age,' Finland said cheerfully.

Snape wondered if he had created his entire life around making other people happy. He was contemplating asking about the heat again.

'Really?' Ron's eyes went wide, and the other children perked up to listen.

'Ja, he is very sweet child,' Finland said. 'He likes to play games, and he's…twelve, I think.'

Suddenly the bedroom door swung open and Hermione stalked out, gripping an empty teacup in one hand and a pencil in the other. She was muttering to herself, and didn't glance at any of them. She put her cup on the counter and then marched back into her room and shut the door behind her.

'That was Hermione,' Snape said. 'She's studying.'

There was a muffled groan from behind the door. Snape sighed.

'Is it always this hot here?'

It was after another hour of Finland's prattle that Snape finally saw them out of his apartment and into the hall.

'Well, we'll be seeing you,' Finland said, as Snape waved them off.

'I suppose,' Snape answered and shut the door. He was exhausted. Children and personified nations and Ginny's running off all the time for no good reason were really wearing on him. He turned back around to face the living room.

'You're going swimming,' he told his students. 'Now.'

Harry and Ron rushed to their room to change while Ginny ran into the bedroom she shared with Hermione. Draco rolled his eyes.

'Do I have to?'

'Yes.' Snape gave him a dangerous look, and Draco stomped off to get into his bathing suit.

Five minutes later all the children were out the door on their way to the public swimming pool. Snape settled down on the sofa with a book and some quiet. He yanked his socks off and threw them in the general direction of the laundry hamper. They landed on the blue tile of the floor and Snape glared at them for a few moments before lifting his wand and whisking them into the hamper. Opening his book, he curled up against the arm of the sofa, hoping to get some good ideas on how to get out of Nattis and safely back to their own world.

* * *

Snape had been lying in bed for thirty-six minutes, and he still could not sleep. His hair had already dried from the cold shower he had taken before settling in. He could hear Draco's breath close to his ear, but he could not tell if he was awake or asleep. He shifted on the air mattress and kicked the sheet off him.

A phone stood next to the mattress on a cardboard box printed across the sides with 'Ferdinand's Bananas.' He picked up the receiver and listened to the buzz of the line. He had no one to call.

'Mmm.' Draco stretched next to him. 'I can't sleep.'

'I can't either,' Snape murmured. He put down the receiver. 'It's too damn hot.'

Draco giggled. 'You swore again.'

Snape sighed. 'Your mother wouldn't find that that funny.'

Draco stopped giggling. There was an uncomfortable silence. Snape heard Draco sniffle.

'I miss my mum. I miss her letters.'

'She might be here.'

'That's not comforting.' Draco turned his back on Snape and pulled the sheet against him, hugging it.

'She might be home.'

Draco sniffled again. He smelt like the strawberry shampoo for kids Hermione had picked out for them on their last shopping expedition. It was pink and shiny and came in a clear bottle that was shaped like a giant, rather flat strawberry. It was an almost nauseatingly sweet smell that mixed poorly with the scent of gasoline, sweat, and garbage drifting in from the open window.

A siren wailed in the distance, and someone threw a bottle. The glass shattered far below.

'Why'd we come here?' Draco asked, his voice muffled by the sheet.

'I don't know,' Snape said. 'I'll find out though.'

'Are we going to go back?'

'We will.'

* * *

Morning brought a rainfall that flooded the parking lot and ripped into the apartment through the open windows. Snape slammed his window shut and ran into the girls' room.

Hermione screamed when he flung open the door. She pulled her blanket up to her chin, looking around for the nightgown she had undoubtedly discarded the night before.

'Get out!'

He avoided looking at her, but Ginny stared after him wide-eyed as swept around their tidy room, closing the two windows.

Spotting Hermione's nightgown, he scooped it up and threw it at her. He closed the door behind him.

'What's wrong with Hermione?' Ron asked when he bolted into his and Harry's room.

'Nothing.' Snape jumped over the boys' mess of books, toys, and clothes – that they were supposed to have cleaned up the day before – and slammed their window shut. The windowsill was already wet and the water dripped off it onto a heap of fresh laundry that had fallen off the desk onto the floor.

'Look at this mess, Potter,' said Snape, gathering up the wet clothes. 'Now they'll have to be washed again. Do you have no sense?' He glided out of the room and threw the clothes into the hamper on top of the socks he had dumped there yesterday.

Finally he closed the kitchen window and stopped, mentally counting off the windows to see if he had gotten them all.

'Bathroom,' he remembered after a moment and set off straight way to deal with it. 'Lovely way to start a morning.'


End file.
